How do you write eloquently?

Post an example so we can see the problem better.

This is a particularly bad case:

They walked through the town in the dim afternoon light. Grass filled the cracks in the asphalt and spilt into windows and doorways. Old vehicles sank deep between dark nettles, and a bicycle plaited itself into the ivy. On either side, houses stood in various states of decay, some roofs long collapsed beneath brambles and weeds. Through broken windows, pockets of rooms lay untouched: rectangular tables made from wood, flatscreen television sets, and moulding sofas, losing all colour under coats of dust.

There, everything blu d together in a pallet of abandonment. Road and not-road were purely technicalities; a footnote of well-actuallies.

If I rewrite your paragraph it doesn't really teach you very much. Read the books I suggested above. Read, Read, Read, Read! Find a writer or two whom you would like to mimic in writing style. Decide how you want to write. It's a process. Learn to look at your sentences. Learn to work on writing a sentence and a paragraph at a time.

They entered the outskirts of town across which fell the failing light of sunset. The shops and gas stations along the high-street were lost in the bronze glow spilling out of the horizon. They shaded their eyes to see what of the town lay before them. Houses in decay. Old cars overtaken by weeds and rust. A bicycle wrapped in ivy. And what remained of the houses' windows gave apocalyptic views into living rooms and dining chambers where the wooden tables yet stood their ground among the flatscreen televisions and sofas long gone to mold and buried in thick coats of dust. At a building that might have once served for a city hall the parking lot was empty as if no car had parked there in decades. Cracks stretched through the blacktop and severed the parking-space lines. And through these fissures grew high blades of grass deeply green and healthy and perhaps the only thriving life in this failed town.

They walked through the town in the dim afternoon light. Grass filled the cracks in the asphalt and spilt into windows and doorways. Old vehicles sank deep between dark nettles, and a bicycle plaited itself into the ivy. On either side, houses stood in various states of decay, some roofs long collapsed beneath brambles and weeds. Through broken windows, pockets of rooms lay untouched: rectangular tables made from wood, flatscreen television sets, and moulding sofas, losing all colour under coats of dust.

There, everything blurred together in a pallet of abandonment. Road and not-road were purely technicalities; a footnote of well-actuallies.

First of all, this is not a bad piece of writing. That said, the prose could be fixed up by forcibly switching up the sentence structure. If you find this hard just focus on never making a sentence similar to the previous one, and you'll get used to it. This should be done except in the case of short sentences that are emphasizing a point. Corbin did very well this with your piece.

But secondly, I think one of the main points is that your are showing a landscape, a panorama, without coloring in the perceptions of the character. That is, if you're just describing a town it's bound to seem monotonous. For the same reason we find history books boring (or maybe you don't )
The point is that you should constantly work at making a setting come to life and look vibrant; the way to do that is to avoid repetitive sentence structures, even if you really like compound sentences (I feel like sentence 2 and 3 are especially lacking in this respect), and switch up the way the story is told: between light and deep penetration, description, action dialogue, etc. For this reason, many books nowadays switch between two or three viewpoint characters; it becomes too boring reading about the same character.

Alitiration also works well to make the writing memorable.

Lastly, I don't think the rhyming in the last sentence works well. Prose should be prose.

I figure I'll end off with the first paragraph of Gene Wolfe's Book of the New Sun. Although he is one of the biggest rule breakers there is, the following is a great start of a book, with similes, metaphors, a character in a setting with a problem; it even tells you the MC's name, despite it being told in first person.

It is possible that I already had some presentiment of my future, The locked and rusted gate that stood before us, with wisps of river fog threading its spikes like the mountain paths, remains in my mind as the symbol of my exile. That is why I have begun this account of it with the aftermath of our swim, in which I, the torturer’s apprentice Severian, had so nearly drowned.

Thank you all!

You didn't ask for a critique, but I figure that's the point of the thread, and I would certainly appreciate if someone would critique mine, so here goes.

My suggestions: Read Syn and Syntax, Cormac McCarthy, and Faulkner.

My two paragraphs:

John McCarthy stands awash in the finality of sunset, staring into tinted glass through which a muted sun glows out of the burnt horizon. The day’s final moments spilling forward against the window where his reflection hovers within the shaded pane. A self-portrait phantom-like in pallor and swathed in bandages. And in that burnished light he sees the ills of mankind displayed across the lower heavens. A sickness only he with his altered mind can perceive and only he with his resurrected heart can cure.

He turns away from the bronze dusklight, away from the slow death of another day, leaving behind him the vision of a city he no longer knows and a world beyond his knowing. Beyond his damaged mind. And within his injured brain his rewired synapses struggle to interpret the ethereal images given him through eyesight recently restored by surgery. By a surgical procedure wherein the surgeons were hesitant to promise any success without assistance by someone’s luck or by someone’s god.

The piece is very well written, starting off with slow, tense description in present tense, then moves into the problem in dramatic tones.
Personally, I think “John” would sound better than “John Mccarthy”, but then again, maybe not.

In the first sentence I see an adjective before each noun, which to me sounds a bit like trying too hard.. Looking at it again, I can’t see it written any differently, but I think its generally advised to lessen these, choosing a stronger noun instead. But who am I to tell you how to write eloquently?

In the second sentence, spilling should be spill, I believe, since it is a new sentence, a new thought. It seems like you have a tendency to put a period somewhere when it really isn’t the end of the sentence, here is an example; another example is “Beyond his damaged mind”.

Another, similar thing I see is the tendency to begin sentences with “And” or the word “By”. Although it definitely makes the sentences more dramatic, I feel like its overdone, and that nothing would be lost by removing the “Ands”.

Also, when talking about his eyesight, you say “recently restored by surgery. By a surgical procedure…” we know it was a surgical procedure because it was through surgery. It reads better if you just say: “A surgical procedure”.
“Assistance by someone’s luck…” I would change to “Of someone’s luck”.

In summary, my main quibble points are the tense tone that stops and starts and begins sentences with conjunctions when they could be after commas and semicolons.

I enjoy Faulkner as well (that is, sometimes, The Sound and the Fury was totally beyond me), although when it comes to eloquent prose I tend to think more in terms of Gene Wolfe and John Steinbeck.

You didn't ask for a critique, but I figure that's the point of the thread, and I would certainly appreciate if someone would critique mine, so here goes.

My suggestions: Read Syn and Syntax, Cormac McCarthy, and Faulkner.

My two paragraphs:

John McCarthy stands awash in the finality of sunset, staring into tinted glass through which a muted sun glows out of the burnt horizon. The day’s final moments spilling forward against the window where his reflection hovers within the shaded pane. A self-portrait phantom-like in pallor and swathed in bandages. And in that burnished light he sees the ills of mankind displayed across the lower heavens. A sickness only he with his altered mind can perceive and only he with his resurrected heart can cure.

He turns away from the bronze dusklight, away from the slow death of another day, leaving behind him the vision of a city he no longer knows and a world beyond his knowing. Beyond his damaged mind. And within his injured brain his rewired synapses struggle to interpret the ethereal images given him through eyesight recently restored by surgery. By a surgical procedure wherein the surgeons were hesitant to promise any success without assistance by someone’s luck or by someone’s god.

The piece is very well written, starting off with slow, tense description in present tense, then moves into the problem in dramatic tones.
Personally, I think “John” would sound better than “John Mccarthy”, but then again, maybe not.

In the first sentence I see an adjective before each noun, which to me sounds a bit like trying too hard.. Looking at it again, I can’t see it written any differently, but I think its generally advised to lessen these, choosing a stronger noun instead. But who am I to tell you how to write eloquently?

In the second sentence, spilling should be spill, I believe, since it is a new sentence, a new thought. It seems like you have a tendency to put a period somewhere when it really isn’t the end of the sentence, here is an example; another example is “Beyond his damaged mind”.

Another, similar thing I see is the tendency to begin sentences with “And” or the word “By”. Although it definitely makes the sentences more dramatic, I feel like its overdone, and that nothing would be lost by removing the “Ands”.

Also, when talking about his eyesight, you say “recently restored by surgery. By a surgical procedure…” we know it was a surgical procedure because it was through surgery. It reads better if you just say: “A surgical procedure”.
“Assistance by someone’s luck…” I would change to “Of someone’s luck”.

In summary, my main quibble points are the tense tone that stops and starts and begins sentences with conjunctions when they could be after commas and semicolons.

I enjoy Faulkner as well (that is, sometimes, The Sound and the Fury was totally beyond me), although when it comes to eloquent prose I tend to think more in terms of Gene Wolfe and John Steinbeck.

Thank you sir. Your advice is very much appreciated.

You didn't ask for a critique, but I figure that's the point of the thread, and I would certainly appreciate if someone would critique mine, so here goes.

What did you need critiqued?

I ain't cut out to be no Jesse James.

 

What did you need critiqued?

And here I was trying to be smooth about it.

I was referring to my prose piece, that I posted before you.

Anybody want to post writing snippets as practice towards eloquence, or whatever you're going for.

I really like this idea and would want to start it up again if anyone's interested. Of course, I like all exercises, as seen from the Wulf's exercises thread. (That's because they give good exercise that improves your writing in a specific area; it's much easier because you aren't under pressure to create a masterpiece; it gives you pressure to put some words on the screen; plus people will read it. Compelling, no? ) Just put a short piece here if you're interested. I finished my Q3 so I had a little time. Here's mine. (second try)

Running rivers of red stretched across the massive hills. Filthy and unforgiving, they glinted menacingly in the morning sun. The stench was something horrible, filling Shataw’s nose and mouth, threatening nausea; and yet he hardly noticed, just stared at the horrid river of death that flowed by.
A clap of thunder roared, venting its rage against the great injustices of the Forsore. Rain hammered down, mixing with those red rivers and mangled body parts; furiously it pattered and poured, coalescing and cleaning, slowly clearing away the reddish color and replacing it with a dullish pink.
And then it stopped. The trees quivered and were still. The battle cries of the Forsore were gone. Gone already moments ago. Gone because the slaughter was over. And gone until next time their fancy struck them, and their lustful natures overtook them.
And Shataw just stared. He felt he should weep, yet he had no tears left to shed. When Father had been killed he had wept, when Mother, he had wept. And when little Futuwa had been slaughtered he had wept.
But now he could weep no more. The red rivers were now only a dullish pink, the full heinous nature of the Forsore’s crimes swept away by the waters from above. Soon they would return to their natural color; and soon his own emotions would be dulled even further, uncaring whether anyone lived or died or was tortured; and the river would be again pristine, showing no sign of a holocaust.

If it were my paragraph, I would start my description with the hills because the rivers run through them.

The hills stood against the skyline, blocking out the horizon to the far edges of the world. Through the grassy hillsides ran rivers their water red as blood. Filthy and without compassion for those who'd drink from their banks. Thin streaks of clean water cut sharply against the crimson sludge, glinting in the morning sun like sharpened sword blades.

Within your current paragraphs lies the style of writing you seek to perfect. I suggest reading Syn and Syntax, McCarthy, and Faulkner.

If it were my paragraph, I would start my description with the hills because the rivers run through them.

The hills stood against the skyline, blocking out the horizon to the far edges of the world. Through the grassy hillsides ran rivers their water red as blood. Filthy and without compassion for those who'd drink from their banks. Thin streaks of clean water cut sharply against the crimson sludge, glinting in the morning sun like sharpened sword blades.

Within your current paragraphs lies the style of writing you seek to perfect. I suggest reading Syn and Syntax, McCarthy, and Faulkner.

Much Thanks! Syn and Syntax is now on my reading list.

If it were my paragraph, I would start my description with the hills because the rivers run through them.

The hills stood against the skyline, blocking out the horizon to the far edges of the world. Through the grassy hillsides ran rivers their water red as blood. Filthy and without compassion for those who'd drink from their banks. Thin streaks of clean water cut sharply against the crimson sludge, glinting in the morning sun like sharpened sword blades.

Within your current paragraphs lies the style of writing you seek to perfect. I suggest reading Syn and Syntax, McCarthy, and Faulkner.

Much Thanks! Syn and Syntax is now on my reading list.

Awesome!

I have never quite felt like i have reached the stage of being called an eloquent writer. I always feel like i am struggling and more days than not, I feel like words are at war with me. But it is always a work in progress! Thank you for that prompt, made me think!

My problem with eloquent writing is when it enters the world of "purple" prose, or the imagery doesn't actually make sense but sounds pretty, or it's a literary attention grab that doesn't actually add anything to the story.

Anybody want to post writing snippets as practice towards eloquence, or whatever you're going for.

So I'll ante up with this:

For I once saw with my own eyes,

Wind-scorched plains running flat to the edge of a wasted land where the shattered world melts against a vacant sky. The cities stand dark and silent as cinder ash, quietly grieving their crucified souls. And the nights each one more cold than the night before and each one passing away in the stillness the days and the years of it without cease.
On the horizon the silhouettes of men walking, their legs and torsos bare to the failing daylight and their bodies hard and thin like the hunting spears in their fists. Beards sprouted in young manhood now hang low in antiquity. And the gray whiskers blow roughly in the prairie wind which still carries rumors of spring—of memory and desire, of April storms coming over the plains—and their hair falls waistward in thick greasy locks like the dead roots of upturned trees. Behind them their women likewise tramp the thorny ground. At their breasts the tribe’s children cling. They are traveling south for the winter.

Here, you compare dark cities to cinder ash. But cinder ash isn't really dark. How is it like a city? Picturing cinder ash I imagine a pile heap, maybe a hill, but not a city.
Also, don't mean to pick on you. I just happened to get stuck on this imagery.

Maybe I am overthinking it.

My problem with eloquent writing is when it enters the world of "purple" prose, or the imagery doesn't actually make sense but sounds pretty, or it's a literary attention grab that doesn't actually add anything to the story.

Anybody want to post writing snippets as practice towards eloquence, or whatever you're going for.

So I'll ante up with this:

For I once saw with my own eyes,

Wind-scorched plains running flat to the edge of a wasted
land where the shattered world melts against a vacant sky. The cities stand dark and silent as cinder ash, quietly grieving their crucified souls. And the nights each one more cold than the night before and each one passing away in the stillness the days and the years of it without cease.
On the horizon the silhouettes of men walking, their legs and torsos bare to the failing daylight and their bodies hard and thin like the hunting spears in their fists. Beards sprouted in young manhood now hang low in antiquity. And the gray whiskers blow roughly in the prairie wind which still carries rumors of spring—of memory and desire, of April storms coming over the plains—and their hair falls waistward in thick greasy locks like the dead roots of upturned trees. Behind them their women likewise tramp the thorny ground. At their breasts the tribe’s children cling. They are traveling south for the winter.

Here, you compare dark cities to cinder ash. But cinder ash isn't really dark. How is it like a city? Picturing cinder ash I imagine a pile heap, maybe a hill, but not a city.
Also, don't mean to pick on you. I just happened to get stuck on this imagery.

Maybe I am overthinking it.

Well developing a writing style takes time and practice. It takes many pages of work and stories. That particular story received an HM. The story is a stepping stone on the road of my development.

Thanks fir the critique, sir.

I didn't mean to be harsh and apologize if it came across that way, Corbin! We're all learning here.

I recently listened to this WE podcast and it reminded me of this thread so figured I would share here:

https://writingexcuses.com/2017/03/26/1 ... ple-prose/

It helped me realize a lot of the mistakes I make when I think I'm being literary but I'm actually just being purple.

Just a suggestion, although these are highly detailed and pretty sentences my issue with them is not repitition or ings. The plot seems stalled.

Reminds me of a battle I wrote, and twenty pages later, a friend asked where the battle actually was. I had gotten so hung up on so many tiny worthless details, I had literally lost the story and that may be what you are seeing.

I was given an exercise to highlight all the lines that actually moved the plot. Not helped you to understand characters or setting or anything, just plot. For me very eye opening.

This may work for you as well. Again only a suggestion, and a personal experience. Please ignore if you find it does not resonate.